


oxytocin and serotonin

by half_n_half



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, VictUuri, and yuuri and victor are in charge of the case, cardiothoracic surgeon victor, chris and phichit are bros, everyone is either doctor or a patient, hospital au, in which yurio needs a difficult surgery, pediatric surgeon yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 08:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_n_half/pseuds/half_n_half
Summary: Yuuri loves being a surgeon.He understands that the hours are long and the immense responsibility that comes with holding a human heart in your hands is nearly crippling, but something makes it all worth it.Little did he know, the years put into medical school would wield something greater than adrenalin.Victor Nikiforov.





	1. dopamine

“Yuuri, I thought of the best idea ever.”

 

Those words, coming from the Thai pediatric nurse next to him always seemed to land Yuuri in hard-to-explain situations.

 

There was that time when he was the only resident on call, and Phichit managed to convince him it would be a good idea to roll down the abandoned hallway in the western wing of Stammi Vicino Hospital (affectionately known as Aria Hospital by its employees; Stammi Vicino was a bit of a mouthful) on a gurney, pushing all the kids who were fortunate enough not to be bedridden.

 

And there was that one day sandwiched between two night long surgeries where, somehow, exhausted Yuuri was blackmailed into asking out an orthopedic nurse due to a cutthroat game of “Truth or Dare”. That particular challenge only being forced upon him when Phichit shared the surgeon’s small crush with the gaggle of ill children in the recreation room. (Afterwards they insisted Yuuri acted on it.)

 

(He regretted it.)

 

He was sure today would be no exception, and if it weren’t for the excited gleam in Phichit’s eyes he would be tempted not to respond.

 

“What is it?” Yuuri clipped his pen onto the clipboard as he responded, turning the majority of his attention back to the thesis on Labyrinthitis he was reading beforehand. Whatever Phichit was about to say, he was sure it was easily dismissible.

 

“We should bring Yurio, Otabek, and Minami somewhere outside the hospital to have dinner or something. It could be like Thanksgiving except-”

 

“It will be extremely depressing because none of them got to see their own families for Thanksgiving and it’s also not rational because none of them are from the United States so they don’t celebrate it anyways?” Yuuri interrupted in one breath, not looking up from his reading.

 

Phichit grinned. It was the lopsided type that indicated he didn’t actually listen to a word his friend said, but wanted to seem informed anyways. “Exactly!” he agreed, oblivious to his plight.

 

Yuuri chuckled at him, now rearranging the counter with the discharge papers for the hundredth time. He was a bit of a neat freak, something Phichit (who shared a small apartment with him in uptown Detroit when they weren’t sleeping in the on-call room) could bear witness to. Phichit seemed to realize his mistake, for he shook his head.

 

“Whatever. You know what I mean,” he said dismissively before finally getting back to filing the next drug orders.

 

(It was true; Yuuri knew exactly why Phichit suggested it.)

 

Most pediatric patients flowed straight from Aria and back to wherever they came from. Even those with very serious conditions tended to have some way to spend the majority of time at home. However there were cases in which constant medical supervision was required, and that’s where the trio came in. Otabek, Yurio, and Minami all had various medical conditions that led them to living every second inside the hospital. Only Otabek was well enough to make brief trips into the city, and even those were closely monitored by paramedics.

 

On top of that, they were international patients, their families shipping them to Detroit (Aria is the top ranked hospital for pediatric surgery, after all) to receive the best care their respective countries could not provide. Luckily all three spoke English, making diagnoses much easier to explain.

 

To bring them to a dinner outside the hospital was a bigger risk than it seemed. Every step away from the operating room was another death sentence, each inch tacking another risk onto the already delicate balance of their health. It would be great, of course, to see them happy and surrounded by walls that weren’t white, sanitary prison gates.

 

“Even if they could make the trip, what makes you think I could convince Yakov to give it a go?” Yuuri pointed out blandly, tuning out the little _tch_ sound Phichit under his breath.

 

Yakov was the Chief of Surgery. He ruled over the halls with an unfaltering iron fist that demanded respect. Everyone was terrified to say anything against him. Well… Almost everyone. There was one surgeon who seemed to go out of his way to surprise everyone with his bravery, but he-

 

Yuuri’s thoughts were briefly interrupted by the sight of Phichit repeatedly banging his head up against the table. “What’s wrong?” he asked, even though this wasn’t unusual behavior from the nurse. He was always overreacting about something or another, even if that something was overcooked macaroni or meeting someone who didn’t like his favorite movie, “The King and the Skater”.

 

“I forgot to bring these papers to the cardiothoracic files!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Leo is going to shoot me, I swear. One of these days you’ll come home to a carcass! Already dead of course. That’s the con of working at a hospital, I suppose. Everyone knows exactly how to kill a human in _minutes_! Now I’m scared to even leave this desk, in fear of the great and powerful-“

 

“Okay I’ll do it for you, just hush yourself,” Yuuri teasingly scolded before taking the stapled papers out of Phichit’s hands and looking them over. They didn’t seem too important or urgent, just a record of a recent patient’s therapeutic medicine use. The surgery was a Thoracic Aortic Dissection Repair, something that not every doctor could accomplish easily, and by the look of things the procedure was perfect. Continuing his quick read of the chart, Yuuri noted the surgeon. Of course.

 

Victor Nikiforov.

 

He was the golden child of Stammi Vicino Hospital; a near-constant reminder that no matter how skilled you were there would always be someone to outshine you. Victor was at the top of the metaphorical surgical food chain, his progressive surgeries earning him countless awards and merits. He was the only nationally ranked attending who took on seemingly impossible cases, even if the mortality rate was over 90 percent.

 

Oh. And he’s only 28 while doing all of this.

 

His genius boosted him through high school and college, entering his freshman year at Harvard (the same school Yuuri went to, determined to follow the medical ‘Greats’) at only 15 years old and enrolling in medical school at 19. During his residency he served at various Russian hospitals, but as soon as he was offered an attending position in Detroit at Aria he packed up and moved to the US.

 

Victor’s charitable donations to various children’s hospitals and treatment centers brought him to the center of international fame through the media, making him one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. People would drool over that silver hair and ethereal eyes even without his generosity, but that additional kindness made him irresistible. However, more recent rumors that Victor was a frequent participant in one-night stands left him branded as a playboy of sorts.

 

Brushing those thoughts aside, Yuuri shuffled the papers as he paced down the halls, past the beeping monitors in each room and out of the Pediatric Wing. Decorative anthropomorphic animal stickers peppering the walls abruptly shifted to dull florescent lights against newly repainted beige walls, leaving the surgeon feel unwelcome in this corridor.

 

It didn’t help that Yuuri's warm, pastel scrubs and cartoon-like scrub cap--worn to calm small children into the environment of the hospital--seemed neon against the stark sterility of the hallway, and drew stares that were anything but subtle.

 

As he reached a row of filing cabinets, Yuuri slowed his brisk pace to something more casual. He didn’t want anyone to know of his anxiety that he faced every time he needed to so much as talk to the surgeons outside the pediatric wing. They were just too intimidating.

 

He handed the papers to a nurse on the computer. She looked up for a moment before grabbing the papers and swiveling her chair so she was instead facing the impressive sorting cabinets. She slipped the sheets into a yellow folder, but the label was too far away for Yuuri to see. She turned back to the desk.

 

“These were supposed to be in earlier,” she muttered, continuing her work. Yuuri winced at the negative implication of her words.

 

He looked up past her to the OR scheduling board, extremely happy to see he was going to scrub in on the hemispherectomy in a few hours. Although Yuuri worked mostly with children, he loved it when other specialties asked him to step in to help. Phichit would always say that he was the best resident of his year, but Yuuri knew that all of talent was from studying long hours into the night and constant dedication.

 

Suddenly he felt someone lean onto the counter next to him, giving a disorganized stack of paper to the same woman who took his. Her face pinked as she filed the papers and made no snide comment to the newcomer. Yuuri looked to the right to see who had managed to soften one of the grumpiest nurses he knew.

 

Of course- it was Nikiforov. No one else could coax a smile with just their presence like he could. His hair was disheveled in a casually messed way, giving him the impression of stepping off a motorcycle before coming to work.

 

Victor didn’t drive a motorcycle. He had a sporty black BMW.

 

Not that Yuuri was keeping track of him.

 

(He definitely was.)

 

He couldn’t have been staring for long, but perhaps the intensity of his gaze caught the other surgeon’s attention for he looked up. Skeptical oceanic eyes were the first thing he noticed. They captivated him and pushed him away at the same time. Unique blue irises with icy highlights entranced him in fitful daze, while the cold, apathetic glance wanted to make him turn. Run away. Anything to get away from that analytical judgment that was somehow being pushed onto him.

 

His breath hitched, even if just for a moment. Yuuri wondered if Victor heard that- it would certainly be embarrassing if so. Suddenly he realized they had been staring at each other for at least two minutes, if not more. At this point Phichit would be wondering what was taking him so long. Unluckily enough, it seemed as though Nikiforov would be content to standing there and making Yuuri uncomfortable for hours.

 

Yuuri coughed lightly and shuffled his feet to break the tension. Victor continued his visual assault. Luckily someone spoke up from behind them before things got weird. Well, weird _er_.

 

“Dr. Nikiforov, we need you in OR 4.” The Russian didn’t move for another few seconds, causing the intern to clear his throat uncomfortably. “Doctor, it’s urgent.”

 

Victor stood up, and stretched his back before turning around. “Alright, I’m coming.” He didn’t even look back to Yuuri as he turned around and headed past the secretary station and into the halls beyond.

 

What even just happened?

 

~

 

“You’re right… that is weird,” Phichit decided after hearing Yuuri recount the past fifteen minutes. “Even for him, that’s weird.”

 

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘even for him’?”

 

“Well it’s no secret that he flirts with everyone at the hospital. Old, young, boy, girl… I don’t even know if he means to do it. At this point it seems more like second nature.” Phichit rambled on matter-of-factly, but Yuuri started to tune him out in favor of replaying the fierceness of Victor’s eyes tuned onto his. It made his stomach turn and legs go weak just to think that he was the under Victor’s personal spotlight.

 

His gaze snapped back up to Phichit’s when he heard his best friend clear his throat. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

 

“Of course Phichit.”

 

“Well you didn’t get flustered when I said that this was your chance to hop on the Victor Nikiforov train, so I find that doubtful.”

 

Yuuri’s cheeks went red on that note and he shook his head. “It wasn’t like that Phichit. It was more like he was staring into my soul, trying to figure out what difficult surgeries I’m capable of performing.” He solemnly looked down at his feet before finishing his answer, “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just shocked to see me there hours before my surgery. You know I almost never go into the cardiothoracic research wing unless I need to.”

 

Phichit frowned in response. “Well that doesn’t fit in with my crazy love story that’s forming in my mind, so that theory is out.”

 

“That theory is the truth.”

 

“That theory is stupid.”

 

“You’re stupid.”

 

Phichit was pouting as Yuuri called him stupid for a total of three seconds before they both began to laugh. A big benefit to working in pediatrics was that having fun wasn’t only tolerated, it was promoted. Kids tended to feel at home and more at ease when the people around them didn’t seem burdened.

 

Their bickering was cut short by an electronic explosion sound. It echoed through the mostly empty halls and turned heads to one of the biggest rooms in the wing.

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes and ruffled Phichit’s hair teasingly. “I’ll go check on him, he must be pretty bored if he put the volume that loud.”

 

As he walked past the door, Yuuri noted the clipboard placed in the plastic container hung on the door.

  

Yuri Daniil Plisetsky.

**Gender**

Male

**Birthdate**

March 1, 2001

**Age**

16

**Height**

163 cm (5'4)

**Blood Type**

B

**Diagnosis**

Chronic Extreme Hypertension.

**Treatment:**

See Cardiothoracic Archive.

  

The pediatric surgeon stepped into the most personalized room in the hospital. Posters and drawings were taped onto the walls in an asymmetric fashion. The synthesized violent noises were coming from the flat screen TV across from the rolling bed, which housed a shaggy, blond haired boy violently mashing buttons on an Xbox controller.

 

“Hey Yurio, what’s crackin’?” Yuuri asked, sitting on the foot of Yuri’s bed. Yurio was a nickname that was given during his first month at the hospital when they would accidentally respond to each other’s names. The boy paused his game and looked up in disdain.

 

“What’s crackin’? _What’s crackin_? Come on Katsudon, I know you’re not that lame,” his mouth was set in an unconvincing grimace. As much as Yurio claimed to be annoyed by Yuuri’s very being, he knew that the boy cared for him.

 

When Yuuri’s grandfather shipped him to Aria four years ago he was absolutely alone. With only a limited English vocabulary and relations to no one under the age of 20, he was easily the most unmotivated patient they had. A huge component to getting healthier quicker was having someone to relate to, so an unhappy kid who could have a major procedure a month was not very good. Six months after his arrival, another ill boy travelled to Detroit to stay under the care of medical personnel, his disorder being a recurring case of Meningitis.

 

The new kid’s name was Otabek and he was from Kazakhstan. Luckily in their foreign school they were required to speak English as well as Kazakh, which made things a lot easier on the nurses. As if to sweeten the deal, Otabek and Yurio hit it off immediately and the Russian began to learn more fluent English under the other’s tutelage.

 

More recently a Japanese boy named Minami joined the ranks of permanent residence. He was the most vocal of the three, and by far the most loved among most staff. Yuuri had to say that he personally enjoyed the other Yuri’s company, yelling persona and all.

 

Currently Yuuri couldn’t see the Kazakh boy anywhere, probably the reason why Yurio tried to get his attention with the TV. “So where’s Otabek?” asked Yuuri.

 

“Beka is out to eat with his sister who’s here from Kazakhstan. He should be back soon.” For a moment the Russian’s voice was without vindictiveness, but that luxury was short-lived for he soon returned to his former state of aggression. “And you’ve been busy all day, so I’ve been alone,” his voice was aggressive, as if the arthroscopy he performed was an optional activity Yuuri took on just to spite the Russian.

 

“Well I can’t stay for long, but I can send Phichit in here if you want someone to talk to?”

 

“I’m not a baby, I don’t need a _babysitter_.” Yurio’s eyes narrowed towards Yuuri. He made a mental note to ask Phichit to come talk with Yurio. He must be pretty lonely if he’s trying to start banters as lame as these.

 

“Okay,” Yuuri began passively, “Don’t forget you have an electrocardiogram tomorrow morning, don’t go to bed too late.” He stood up and walked to the door before Yurio called out again.

 

“You better be there, Katsudon. I can’t deal with the interns alone.”

 

“I’ll do my best, but my shift doesn’t start till 6 AM tomorrow.”

 

It was quiet for another second. Yuuri was about to turn away from the room and go check up on his post-op patients, something he really should have done thirty minutes ago, when an uncharacteristically small voice spoke. “I’m gonna be fine, right? I haven’t had any irregular heart rhythms in a few weeks, so I should be okay?”

 

Yuuri grinned, trying to look as enthusiastic and hopeful as he could. It was hospital policy to never promise a patient anything except for trying your absolute best. “I’m sure things will work out. You haven’t felt any extreme nausea recently, have you?”

 

The Russian was quiet for a moment too long. “No, I haven’t,” he whispered after a few seconds.

 

Yuuri walked towards the kiosk, looking over his shoulder back at Yurio. “Then you will be fine.”

 

_Never_ give a patient certainty when you wouldn’t bet your life on it.

 

———

 

Victor loves the unpredictability of the human body.

 

Sure there are repeating functions and properties that never change, but looking deeper will reveal an unknowable pattern of spontaneous and unexplainable instances that not even the most intelligent scientists can completely comprehend. It’s a surgeon’s job to anticipate the inexplicable, to learn how to treat every unique facet of an ailment. Victor learned how to do this long ago.

 

Now he took on cases that have never been done before. With no predecessors no one can deem him wrong, even if his tactics are crazy at best. He knew he was well known in the medical community for his radical techniques that seem to work only be some sort of weird medical magic. It’s not magic, it’s skill; hardwired talent that was trained into responding to every bodily reaction.

 

Personalities, on the other hand, are predictable.

 

He knew how to make anyone fall at his feet. Say the right things and people are putty, malleable to anything you want. A little bit of flattery can get someone to offer you dinner, some showing off can lead to an open Attending position in the top ranked cardio program in the world.

 

Luckily now he only performed high-level surgeries. He typically didn’t associate with anyone who wasn’t an attending. Residents (for the most part) were too immature to deal with. However Victor still prided himself on knowing everyone’s names on his floor and being able to hold an informed conversation without feeling awkward.

 

Victor stacked up his completed post-operative forms in a messy pile, not bothering to organize them. Sara (the most strict nurse at Aria) was a friend of his and she would do it for him. The walk to the cabinets was uneventful. He stopped once to talk with some other doctors who wanted his opinion on a Bilateral Cingulotomy, even though he wasn’t even a neurologist.

 

He handed the papers to the nurse with a charismatic grin, watching in satisfaction as Sara blushed. At this point it was clockwork.

 

Victor looked above her to the OR board, nodding in satisfaction at the Endoscopic Thoracic Sympathectomy he was scheduled for that night after an Esophagectomy. He didn’t typically work with nerves, but when this case came to the hospital he knew he needed to get in on it.

 

He leaned against the counter and looked to the left, thinking the person next to him was someone he knew.

 

He was wrong. He felt like he was just punched in the gut when all the air in his lungs suddenly deserted him.

 

(There was a goddamn _angel_ in front of him.)

 

Victor knew he could be exceedingly dramatic at even the best of times, Christophe would testify a thousand times to that, but for once Viktor felt his thoughts had fallen pathetically short of truth.

 

His skin was tan and beautiful and perfect in every way and Viktor had to make a note to contact every skin care company he knew to tell them someone had found the one person with the true solution to perfect skin. He wanted to reach forward and touch his face, feel the soft expanse of cheek that was so tantalizingly near him.

 

How long had it been?

 

(Minutes? Hours?)

 

Time seemed to blur out of reality for the following moments and all Victor could see was caramel softness disguised as eyes. Victor wanted to say something. Hello? That was too common. How would this man, this _angel_ , have previously escaped his notice? He was wearing scrubs and an Aria ID (devastatingly slightly turned so he couldn’t see the name) so he clearly worked here. The scrub cap tucked idly in his pocket identified him as a surgeon.

 

The stranger coughed lightly, a distressed expression hidden underneath forced politeness. Victor didn’t like that. He wanted to see him smile and laugh, not this distant, quiet persona.

 

He vaguely heard someone speak behind him. If they were asking something he didn’t hear it, the beauty in front of him captivating all thoughts.

 

“Doctor, it’s urgent.”

 

Of course someone needed him now, as if there weren’t countless other residents who could help with whatever they needed. “Alright, I’m coming,” Victor heard himself say, and suddenly his feet were turned towards someone who was certainly _not_ the angel and they led him to the operating rooms. Away from him.

 

~

 

“Victor, I think you’re overworking yourself,” Christophe said, with a face full of faux pity for his friend. He had an eyebrow raised in skepticism and his lips were set in a pout.

 

Chris had been his best friend for years. It started his first night in Detroit at a relatively high-end bar downtown when the Swiss hit on him (and paid for all of Victor’s vodka, bless him) before finding out they were soon to be coworkers. They promptly became friends, even briefly living with each other when Chris’s apartment caught on fire.

 

(Not that he could have denied Chris and his suitcase at his front door, the fire was Victor, a stripper, and a bottle of champagne’s fault.)

 

(Then again, the stripper was Christophe.)

 

“I didn’t imagine him,” Victor explained again, exasperated, ignoring the eye roll he received from his friend. He felt like they had been down this path before, the conversation circling around one central topic, ‘Who was that mystery man?’ “Crispino saw him too, and I seriously doubt we were both hallucinating the same person.”

 

“Why does this always happen to _you_? First with the man from the Medical Commencement ceremony, and now this? You’re just plain pathetic,” he taunted as he shook his head. “But I’m nothing if not an amazing friend. I’ll try to figure out who he is for you.”

 

“ _Really_?” Victor could feel the excitement on his face as he took Chris’s hands into his own. “You’re the best!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied dismissively, pushing Victor away. Despite this demeanor, Victor knew that Chris was happy to do this for him. “Get me into that Esophagectomy you have this afternoon and a bottle of Le Gallais and we’ll call it even.”

 

Victor grinned and leaned back into his chair. “Deal. But don’t think I’m letting you in there as anything more than a resident, even if you are an attending. I get to do all the fun cutting.”

 

Chris groaned angrily (and loudly), startling the interns at the table next to them. “Fine, no surgery for now, but next time I want in on something you’re getting it for me.”

 

“Okay that’s fair.” They shook on it.

 

———

 

Yuuri’s hand was crushed in a devastatingly crushing clasp. Yurio’s eyes were clamped shut in a grimace, as if shutting his eyes would delay the EKG.

 

“You’ll be fine, Yurio,” a voice next to him said optimistically. “This time tomorrow you’ll be laughing that you were even scared in the first place.” Yuuri turned to see Phichit, a calming smile gracing his features. The Thai nurse had a knack for soothing those around him, whether they are young or old, patient or parent.

 

“I’m not scared,” the Russian murmured indignantly, but his sharp features softened minutely and the death grip loosened enough for blood to return to Yuuri’s fingertips. “When are those interns going to get here anyway? They said to wake up at 4:30 and it’s 4:45.”

 

At this point Yuuri’s hand felt like they were about to fall off, so his relief was tangible when a familiar brooding Kazakh walked into the room. He sat on the foot of Yuri’s bed and put a hand on his leg; the motion seemed induce comfort for the angry teen. Their connection was a strange bond that couldn’t truly be put to words, though the term “inseparable” did come to mind. At his arrival Yurio dropped the surgeon’s hand, suddenly much more captivated by the new arrival.

 

“Hey Otabek,” Yuuri greeted while rubbing feeling back into his knuckles, only getting a solemn nod in response. “The interns should be here soon,” this part was directed at both Yurio and his friend, “so sit tight for just a few more minutes.”

 

Phichit grinned knowingly. “They’re probably just stalling till they have to see Yurio. It’s no secret how much he despises them,” he whispered the last part, directing his voice so only Yuuri could hear him.

 

He chuckled in response. “That’s probably right, he is pretty annoying after all.”

 

Yurio scowled at both of them (despite being deaf to their exchange), but was significantly more at ease when was Otabek with him, rubbing circles into his back.

 

The door opened and three surgical interns stepped in. All three of them huddled together against the glare of the blonde child whose steely eyes were enough to make a grown man intimidated. “I had to wait for over fifteen minutes for you, and all for a stupid electrocardiogram! I shouldn’t even have to be awake before you.”

 

The three bashfully looked at their feet. One of them (a soft spoken boy named Guang Hong Ji) stepped forward with the bulky machine in hand. He set it on the table beside Yurio without making direct eye contact, a wise choice. “Sorry Yurio, we got caught up on the VIP case in the pre-op rooms.”

 

It was clear Yurio was trying to suppress his curiosity, face teetering from appearing stoically apathetic to a suppressed intellectual gleam in his eyes. “Who’s here this time?” he asked after his small mental battle with himself, arms folding in an angsty pout.

 

Guang Hong finished attaching the electrodes to various areas on his upper left chest. His touches were feather light over the scars that plagued his ribcage from past surgeries. In his own way, Yurio was truly a soldier. The EKG beeped steadily from its placement on the table, showing that Yurio did indeed have a heart. “It’s that Canadian actor, JJ,” he answered after a brief pause.

 

Yurio stiffened, his face somehow getting more annoyed. “What? We’re helping _that_ idiot? I didn’t realize Aria’s mission was to make the world a _worse_ place.” The previously level readings on the EKG spiked at the stress, his heart beating faster and with more vigor. Everyone in the room laughed freely at his plight, even Otabek who rarely even smiled.

 

“We’re doctors, Yurio. We have to help everyone,” said an intern.

 

“Yeah, even stuck-up Canadian dicks with narcissistic complex.” Despite the aggressive words, Phichit still smiled wide in the light of friendly banter. It was rare to ever see him actually disliking someone.

 

Guang Hong smiled as he wrote some notes on his clipboard. “Okay Yuuri, everything seems in order. Let me just move this electrode to measure the blood flow through your aorta.” He moved a blue tack up a few inches before reattaching it.

 

Suddenly, the thin line wobbled. Well, it was supposed to (since the readings being straight would indicate a still heart) but this was out of proportions. It swiveled much farther from the typical guidelines that meant a healthy blood flow.

 

Even Phichit’s happy demeanor dissipated as he read the results. You don’t need to be a medical expert to see that something was wrong (and they were, so that made things worse).

 

“Why do you all look like I’m about to die?” Yuri asked after a minute of silence (except for the steady beep of the EKG). No one answered, all suddenly very busy with their shoes and the floor. “Come on guys, I didn’t go to medical school. I can’t doctor myself.” His voice barely shook, but anyone who knew him well enough could pick it up. Otabek watched him with heedful eyes, gauging his expression.

 

“We have to wait for a cardio expert to know anything,” Yuuri said calmly in attempt to keep his voice confident for his patient’s sake. It wasn’t professional to let a patient know how scared you are.

 

“So I’m going to be okay right? No more surgeries?” he asked, the tremor in his voice much more pronounced. His eyes flicked to each doctor in the room, suddenly not caring about his reputation of being tough. They landed on Otabek who in response gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

 

This time Yuuri didn’t try to lie to him.

 

“It’s bad."


	2. oestrogen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay little chart:
> 
> scrub nurse- surgical nurse  
> attending- highest rank of surgeon  
> resident- the middle rank  
> intern- lowest rank
> 
> victor is an attending and yuuri is a resident mk??

Being an attending is exhausting.

 

Sure, you get the power to boss pretty much anyone you want around plus getting to perform only the most cutting-edge surgeries, but at a good hospital like Aria, those amazing surgical opportunities come around once a day. Everyone has a problem and everyone wants the best to solve it. If Victor isn’t mid-procedure he’s researching the next case or trying to find grants for his program. He never needs to look very far, however, for every benefactor is always eager to donate money to his cause—he is the golden boy after all.

 

But once or twice in his shift Victor is able to slip away from the crowds of doctors begging him for advice to the on-call room where he can get a few precious hours of sleep. He always sleeps on the third mattress from the door. It has the perfect balance of distance from the window and sink so he was never disturbed by anything except his pager.

 

(Well, technically he didn’t own the mattress, but who was going to tell _him_ otherwise?)

 

Waking him up was a bad idea. A very bad idea. It was a well-known fact not to interrupt his rest for anything less than emergency.

 

Apparently not well-known enough, if this morning was anything to go by.

 

Victor looked forward with a steely glint in his eyes, probably the reason behind people’s rapid escape of his warpath, an action he didn’t care about right now. The first time in thirty hours he was able to get away from the OR and sleep and _someone_ took that away from him. _Someone_ decided that no one else was smart enough to read an EKG, even though that’s a task typically given to interns.

 

Did he seem like intern, or in general someone who enjoyed being kept awake for over a day?

He stomped into the pediatric wing, past the nursery and through the rec room (notably frightening some of the kids and nurses in it.) “Dr. Nikiforov? What are you doing here?” he heard someone ask from behind him, but there was no slowing him down at this point.

 

Suddenly, Victor realized, he had no idea where the hell he was. It was rare for him to have any surgeries with kids, and even when he did it was just minor procedures for VIP patients who stayed in his cardiothoracic wing anyways. Of course, it didn’t help that he completely forgot what room he was going to. He walked to the nearest nurses’ station, surprised to see the woman sitting behind the desk looking terrified of him.

 

Oh right, he probably still looked like a psychopath. Hair mussed, scrubs wrinkled and eyes screaming murder. Victor took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair once to calm it down. He met her stare again, this time with a significantly more relaxed smile. “Can you tell me where to find Yuri Plisetsky’s room? I have a consult there.”

 

“Yes, of course!” she answered nervously. “Room 534B, it’s down the hall and to the left.”

 

“Thank you!” he said with another beaming grin, but as soon as he turned away the charismatic persona dropped and he was back to seeking revenge.

 

~

 

Once he found the wooden door, Victor Nikiforov opened it with a flourish before stepping in with the grin he gave all children he worked with. He had read the chart on the door outside and spoke to a passing intern before he stepped in so he would at least be slightly informed on his patient. Apparently the boy was from Russia with no family in Detroit. He’d probably be scared and shy, so Victor wanted to do his best to make him feel welcome.

 

“What the fuck took you so long? Did you get lost or something?” said the blonde on the bed as he caught sight of Victor.

 

(Okay, so maybe he wasn’t shy.)

 

“Sorry, I got a bit caught up. I was actually getting some sleep when I was called down here,” he sent a quick, accusatory glance to the nurse in the room who didn’t even bother to look up at his glare. Rude. He looked back to Yuri. “So,” he began, sitting on the edge of the kid’s bed, “I hear you’re from Russia. So am I, how strange is that?”

 

“Stop talking to me like a child _, ublyudok_!”

 

The surgeon frowned at the boy. “Oh no, that’s not a happy face! Why don’t you smile?” A shriveling glower from the blonde promptly shut Victor up.

 

The nurse sitting in one of the visitor chairs spoke up. “Yurio is family to everyone in the pediatric wing. We wanted the best surgeon here to be on his case.” The man was Thai, with a slight accent and bright eyes, but right now he mostly seemed tired. It seemed Victor wasn’t the only tired worker, much to his chagrin.

 

“Where is his primary surgeon?”

 

“He and Otabek are getting me some chips from the vending machine outside,” piped the Russian on the bed in a surprisingly less aggressive tone. Victor didn’t bother asking who the hell Otabek was.

 

“Shouldn’t _you_ be doing that?” he instead asked pointedly to the nurse.

 

“Shouldn’t _you_ be reading the EKG and diagnosing the patient?”

 

He tried to cover up his shock with a confident simper, but he knew that the two people in the room could sense his unease. He looked over to the EKG where it was innocently beeping just loud enough to be heard. “Well it seems to me that the only thing wrong is your blood pressure is slightly high,” he said after a few seconds. Was that seriously all they called him down for?

 

(This was making his blood pressure skyrocket, let alone this angry kid’s.)

 

“Well duh,” the nurse said as he tacked on another electrode over Plisetsky’s heart. The beeping turned erratic and drowned out the rest of the noise in the room. “This is what we’re worried about.”

 

Victor looked over the readings once more, a significantly more concentrated expression on his face. He had only just looked up when the door opened in the most un-elegant way possible, slamming against the wall and then hitting the person entering on the shoulder when it closed.

 

It was _him_.

 

Victor took a bit too long to realize that the angel before him was outstretching a hand for him to shake. Victor’s thoughts were hardly processed before he instinctively grasped the hand. His skin is warm. (This was a terrible observation because of course his hand was warm—Yuuri is very much alive.) After twenty-eight years of working perfectly well, his brain has finally given up on him, Victor thinks.

 

“Hello,” Victor said, trying to sound professional. “I’m Dr. Victor Nikiforov, and you are?”

 

The blessing opened his mouth to speak.

 

(This was it, the moment where he finds out his name. It’s a moment he’ll remember forever.)

 

“I’m Dr. Yuuri Katsuki,” he says after a brief pause. Yuuri. Never had Victor heard such a beautiful name. Well, really that wasn’t a super uncommon name, but no one wore it quite like he did.

 

Yuuri’s grasp on his hand wasn’t firm in the slightest. He weakly grasped Victor’s hand with slightly trembling fingers. He never quite met his eyes, only looking up just to glance away again a second later.

 

(He was just as perfect as Victor remembered.)

 

“Will you two please stop staring at each other and tell me what’s wrong with me?” yelled the obviously angsty teen from his bed. Yuuri jumped a foot away from Victor, releasing his hand in the process. It was a shame, really, his hand was quite nice.

“Just take your chips, _tora_ ,” Yuuri said teasingly, throwing the bag of Cheetos at Yuri.

 

( _And he speaks Japanese?_ Why doesn’t he just rip out Victor’s heart in that moment with his perfection?)

 

“I’m Phichit Chulanont, by the way,” the nurse greeted with a wave, grinning ear-to-ear, “and I don’t want to hear any of that ‘Nurse Phichit’ crap, it makes me feel medieval.”

 

Victor looked back to the EKG, anger he had built up since his early awakening forgotten. “Phichit, Dr. Katsuki—can we speak outside?”

 

They both nodded him and followed him into the hallway. As they passed the doorframe another boy with an IV in his arm slipped past them into Yuri’s room. The other two doctors didn’t say anything about it so neither did Victor.

 

“It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Yuuri asked once the door had closed and they were a safe distance from the room. “I’m not that big into cardiothoracics, and even I can tell it’s bad.”

 

“His aorta is extremely inflamed from his frequented hypertension. In fact, I’ve never seen it this bad, even in adults. The biggest concern is that it will burst before we can get him into surgery.”

 

Phichit and Yuuri’s faces both dropped. “But why can’t we just start prepping him now and get him into surgery for tomorrow?” Phichit asked, his voice filling with a tiny bit of hope.

 

“Well the swelling is so bad that I’ll probably need to replace his aorta with an artificial sample, which will take a day to get. I’ve only ever done a Thoracic Aortic Dissection Replacement a few times before and surgery is always harder with children, since their organs are smaller. I’ll definitely need a week or two to debrief myself on the steps. By then it’s more than likely the aorta will have ruptured.”

 

“That leaves us with two options,” Yuuri interrupted. He seemed to be mostly speaking with himself, but Victor let him continue anyways (even though the reasoning behind this was mostly so he could hear his voice). “We can either rush ourselves into the easier surgery or wait until it ruptures and be more prepared…” his little monologue ended in a murmur. “Besides, Yurio will need time to get off of Angiotensin because it interferes with the anesthesia and that will take at least a week if not more.”

 

He looked up as if he forgot people were listening to him.

 

“Correct, Dr. Katsuki. He’s on Angiotensin, you said?” Yuuri and Phichit both nodded to this, both of them knowing the case by heart. “That’s certainly going to cause a few problems if we decided to rush it. This case is delicate enough, so I say we push the surgery until his aorta ruptures which will be at least a week from now. At most it will be three weeks, but I highly doubt he will make it that far. Now Katsuki, what do you suggest for keeping the patient safe until then?” Victor asked, eyeing Yuuri. He wanted to call Yuuri by his first name more than anything, but he could just tell it would make him uncomfortable. In fact, the other surgeon looked weary just being asked a direct question.

 

“Well, um, for starters I would move him to the rooms closer to the ORs, since we’ll only have a limited amount of time once his aorta bursts. I would keep a crash cart ready in his room and have someone check up on him periodically throughout the day. Once in the second week, someone should be with him around the clock, even if they aren’t a doctor. His best friend—Otabek, you saw him a few minutes ago—wouldn’t mind, I know for certain.”

 

“Great ideas!” Victor said proudly. “Now I want a full checkup on him by tonight including a CT scan, and could someone pull up his past surgeries from the archive? I know he’s had quite a few from his chart.”

 

“Sure thing boss!” Phichit said with a wink, grabbing Yuuri’s shoulder and beginning to drag him away. Victor vaguely wondered what made the Thai nurse so excited.

 

“You’ll tell Yuri everything, yeah?” he asked.

 

“Yurio,” Yuuri blurted, then immediately blushed, embarrassed at his outburst. The rosiness complimented him just perfectly and almost distracted Victor from what his muse said next. “We call him Yurio—since our names are so similar and all? It’s just… easier.”

 

Victor let forth his most head-turning smile.

 

(For the first time since he woke up it was 100% genuine.)

 

“Brilliant! I’ll page you later, Yuuri, when I want to start going over the surgery,” he assessed the two doctor’s shocked looks. “Oh, did I not mention? You’ll be scrubbing in with me, I need someone who knows Yurio’s background.”

 

He turned around and began walking back towards his wing. However now sleep was far from his mind and lethargy was all but gone with the appearance of Yuuri. It was time Victor paid another visit to Chris.

 

———

 

Yuuri watched Victor’s retreating form as he sauntered down the hallway. Did he just agree to meet up with Victor Nikiforov? Victor _freaking_ Nikiforov? It was as unreal as things come and it made his head spin.

 

He was Yuuri’s long-standing idol since he had begun his internship at Aria. Of course, at that point, he and Victor didn’t even work at the same hospital, but word travels fast in the medical community when a resident gets published for a brand new type of minimally-invasive cardiothoracic surgery without an attending signed on with him.

 

Apparently at the St. Petersburg hospital, they gave Victor free reign to work as soon as he was out of internship, granting him privileges like research labs and exciting patients with unsolvable cases. However when _Yuuri_ finally became a resident he was still running labs to his superiors—not performing awesome surgeries and gathering worldwide fame.

 

The only time Yuuri had seen Victor before he had come to work at Aria was at a yearly commencement ceremony for Harvard Medical. Many prestigious doctors (somehow including Yuuri) were asked to prepare speeches to inspire the new class.

 

(It was an absolute disaster. Yuuri didn’t even like to think about it.)

 

Phichit tugging on his shoulder snapped him out of his little trance. He focused on the Thai nurse’s face, which seemed to be in an endless mix of excitement and shock. “Yuuri Katsuki. _The_ Victor Nikiforov is going to help you on this case. Do you understand how freaking amazing this is?”

 

Yuuri could feel himself nodding, not exactly sure what his expression looked like to onlookers. For all he knew his face could have fallen off, it was certainly numb enough to attest to that. “He’s just studying with me because we’re on the case together, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

 

He gasped in response. “No, I refuse to believe that! This is the work of a Nicholas Sparks romance novel—steamy library sessions with a dreamy doctor, all to prepare you for the surgery of a lifetime!” He ended his little rant with a triumphant fist in the air.

 

“It’s a great surgery, sure,” Yuuri agreed diplomatically, “One that I’m almost certainly too inexperienced to assist in.”

 

“What are you talking about? You scrub in more hours than any other surgical resident in your year. I know you’re good enough to do it.”

 

A look up at the door behind Phichit was enough to remind Yuuri of the biggest problem of all. “We need to tell Yurio everything. I don’t know if he’s going to like being relocated to a new area.”

 

Phichit snorted before dryly retorting, “I don’t think he’s going to like that he has a literal ticking time-bomb in his chest.”

 

Paling slightly, Yuuri nodded. It was hard to admit how attached he had gotten to Yurio in the time he was being treated at Aria, especially since getting connected to patients was a one-way ticket to freaking out in the OR.

 

“You go schedule the CT to be in twenty minutes and I’ll go talk to him.”

 

~

 

After a small pep talk with himself to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid like tear up, Yuuri stepped back into Yurio’s room. He could sense the physicality of the silence like bricks on his shoulders, and it was hard not to immediately run out again.

 

Two pairs of expectant eyes regarded him from the bed. Yurio was lying with his head on Otabek’s leather-clad chest while the Kazakh sat silently observing the both of them. “It’s not good, right?” the blonde asked after a few moments of pregnant silence.

 

Yuuri closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to get this out if he could see their faces.

 

“Since your last surgery, you have relapsed into another bout of extreme hypertension—”

 

“No…” interrupted a small voice.

 

Yuuri continued without pause. “The recurring stress on your heart has caused the aortic valve to weaken significantly over the past month, which in turn has caused it to inflame due to overwork.” There was crying ringing in his ears, but the surgeon couldn’t stop now. He had to finish the diagnosis. “Your heart is in a very precarious position with the aorta ready to burst at any moment in the next two weeks. We will have a team ready to react at any moment to bring you into surgery. I’m sorry.”

 

He finally peeked open one of his eyes and almost wished he hadn’t.

 

Yurio was sitting up now, cheeks flushed and hair even crazier than normal. Tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes in frustration. “You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_? I seem to remember _you_ being the one who promised _me_ that I was going to be fine. I thought I was going to be _fine_. I told my grandfather I was going to be _fine_.” He rubbed his nose on the edge of his leopard-print blanket.

 

Yuuri frowned and reached out, “Yurio…”

 

“No. Just… just leave. I’m so sick of looking at doctors every goddam day of my life.” The Russian buried his face in Otabek’s shoulder, who in turn stared at Yuuri until he backed out of the room.

 

~

 

Yuuri jumped a little when Leo started screeching.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised; Phichit was describing his recent encounters with Victor in acute detail, after all. Leo knew about Yuuri’s fascination (to say the least) with the surgeon and often brought Phichit as much gossip as he could from the cardiothoracic wing.

 

Leo was actually Victor’s right-hand man when it came to scrub nurses. He knew the exact order to have his surgical tools lined up and somehow handed him the correct scalpel before Victor even knew he needed it himself.

 

“So?” Leo prompted when Phichit didn’t continue after his interruption. “What happened after Victor told Yuuri he’d page him?”

 

“He left—probably going back to get some sleep. He had two back-to-back surgeries last night so he needs his rest.”

 

Yuuri broke his concentration in his book. “You’re such a stalker, why do you know his entire schedule?”

 

“Why _don’t_ you?”

 

Yuuri groaned in utter exasperation.

 

Leo grinned evilly, ready to tease the Japanese surgeon mercilessly. “I can’t believe you don’t think he’s into you! If Victor offered me a surgery like that then asked to ‘study’ I’d hop right on.”

 

“Yeah, he’s probably thinking about you right now.” Phichit agreed with ruffle of Yuuri’s hair.

 

“I don’t know why I’m friends with either of you,” Yuuri muttered under his breath, playfully knocking away the hand on still his head. “It’s almost as if you were born to torment me.”

 

“That’s the idea.”

 

Phichit’s pager beeped next to him and his hand immediately went to his side to read it. “It’s Minami, code blue.” He got up and started jogging down the hall with a frown before turning over his shoulder to call back, “Oh, and don’t forget to call me tonight with the details of you and Nikiforov’s date!”

 

“It’s not a date!” Yuuri called after him, indignant over the terms of the study session.

 

Minami wasn’t doing so well over the past few weeks. His spinal tumor progressed to the point where it paralyzed him from the waist down and soon it would keep him from moving ever again. Soon, Yuuri hoped, they would be able to operate and let Minami live a relatively normal life.

 

Leo looked at his watch before turning to him with an apologetic grin, “Sorry, seems like I have to go take the VIP patient down for his MRI. See you later?” He waited for an affirmative nod before setting off in the opposite direction of Phichit.

 

The only thing left to do until Victor paged him was to study. He wanted to be prepared when Victor asked him questions about an aortic replacement.

 

He wanted to impress him.

 

———

 

Victor finally found Chris after a hearty search around the entire surgical wing in Victor’s office eating a Caesar salad. Next to him was the fierce redhead Mila—a spitfire resident the Swiss had befriended in his search for the surgeon most willing to tolerate a few drinks with him and Victor—eating some sort of wrap and going through his medical files sorted on his desk.

 

“Chris,” began Victor with a huge grin, ignoring for now the invasion of privacy, “I found him. The beautiful, the amazing, the one-and-only—Yuuri Katsuki. He works in the pediatric wing, that’s why I never saw him before.”

 

“Oh yeah,” drawled Chris, smacking his hand to his forehead, “I knew I forgot to tell you something. I figured that out while you were in surgery and I have to say you are right: he is one hot piece of ass. I’d say that he knocks Mila with her ranking of ‘hottest resident’ right out of first place.”

 

“He’ll do _what_?” Mila asked, pointing her wrap angrily at Chris who just winked.

 

“He’s more beautiful than all the stars and moons…wait, there is only one moon. He’s more beautiful than all the celestial bodies!”

 

“That’s actually the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Victor, and I’ve seen you Russian-level drunk.” Mila got out of her chair to grab a soda from the mini fridge in the corner. She opened it and took a long sip before speaking again. “You need something besides Diet Coke in your fridge,” she said finally.

 

“Maybe you should stop stealing my stuff and hanging out in my office if you don’t like it.”

 

“Maybe you should shut up.”

 

“You shut up—”

 

“No you!”

 

Christophe’s voice rang above theirs. “Children,” he said, patting Mila’s head and giving Victor a disapproving look, “both of you need to be quiet and let me eat my salad in peace.”

 

“In _my_ office?” Victor asked incredulously. “Maybe you should get one for yourself instead of hogging mine all the time.”

 

Chris glared back. “You know I should be the head of Plastics, I run every important surgery and—”

 

“And what? Dr. Weir is still the one with the office and the super fun-to-spend Christmas bonus.”

 

“Fucking Bert hasn’t picked up a scalpel in three years and he’s still the figurehead,” Chris uttered disdainfully, angrily slamming his fist onto the table for the dramatics. Mila and Victor laughed at his misfortune.

 

Mila was the first to speak up in the absence of conversation. “So Victor, now that you’ve found your mystery man what will you do?”

 

“Well I’m letting him scrub in on my Thoracic Aortic Dissection Replacement and—”

 

“You’re _what_?” Christophe exclaimed, spitting a small bit of water in surprise.

 

“You know… so we can spend more time together?”

 

“ _Vitya_ …” he drawled, “Don’t you want to let your _longstanding_ best friend in on such a good surgery? You did promise me favors for his name, did you not?”

 

“Nice try, but I found Yuuri all on my own. Anyways, we’re going to research the best procedure for this case together. The patient has had a lot of surgeries in the past, so it will be really difficult to get any stitches to hold in place.”

 

“Well go get him!” Mila shrieked, shooing Victor out the door. “In fact get him _and_ his picture so I can see how cute he is and decide if he’s beaten me.”

 

———

 

Yuuri arrived in the cafeteria a mere minute after Victor paged him. He had accidently fallen asleep in the course of his personal study period, the printed words of Denton Cooley and Russell Nelson lulling him into dreams of Hasetsu, his small hometown, and childhood friends. When his pager went off he accidently swept his books onto the ground before hastily picking them and shoving them into a messenger bag he used for such instances.

 

He had raced out of the library past shushing librarians to the tabled area surrounded by snack cart to find the area thankfully empty of one world-renowned cardiothoracic surgeon.

 

This gave Yuuri time to pull two tables together to set up pictures of Yurio’s CT scans and the results of his physical next to his history of surgical reports. He placed his stack of textbooks detailing hypertension and the associated procedures on the empty chair next to him.

 

After a few minutes of anxiously waiting in a plastic chair, his attention was abruptly redirected from his unease to stunning silver hair moving his way.

 

“Hello Dr. Katsuki,” the cardiothoracic surgeon said warmly. His hair looked like he had combed it since they were apart, and his scrubs seemed much less wrinkled than before. In comparison Yuuri’s disheveled strands of black hair seemed less-than-appropriate to be in his presence.

 

Yuuri regretted sleeping at the library. He regretted messing up his previously ironed scrubs just to catch a few extra minutes of peace, regretted sleeping on the corner of a book so that there was a visible imprint of a seam on his left cheek.

 

(At this point, Yuuri regretted ever sleeping in his entire life if it meant he could be presentable for Victor Nikiforov in this moment.)

 

It was at that point when he realized that Victor had been waiting for a response. He rapidly tried to formulate appropriate words to say hello back.

 

“Hello, Dr. Nikiforov.”

 

(He managed to sound at least slightly composed, which was a blessing at this point.)

 

“This past hour I’ve been studying up on the surgery and even more on Yurio’s case, even though I did most of his minor surgeries myself.” Yuuri pointed to some hand written notes on the surgical reports. “I also highlighted some things that I thought would be important for the surgery, hopefully that helps us out a little.”

 

“Thanks for the notes, but your studying on the surgery is useless. You can forget just about everything you read for now.” At Yuuri’s confused expression he continued. “Yurio’s case is very unique in nature. I believe that the traditional technique will be too tough on his aorta and may cause it to burst as we work on it. I propose that we come up with a new procedure that mimics the old technique especially for his fragility.”

 

“Create… a whole new surgery?” Yuuri asked, the shock obvious in his tone. “How will we do that without being able to look into his chest? If we open him up there’s no way our probing won’t make things worse.”

 

“We’ll have to do a lot of guessing. It’s risky, but it’s also our best hope. Since you’re Yurio’s primary surgeon you need to help me with what his heart can handle.”

 

Yuuri nodded. He was determined to bring his friend through this alive.

 

———

 

Yuuri was adorable when he worked, Victor decided.

 

Whenever Victor asked his opinion on different ideas he would run his hands through his hair, causing it to muss even further than it’s original adorable state. Each time he wrote in his perfect scrawl he would stick his tongue just slightly past his lips on concentration, making the Russian wild.

 

Was this man just trying to torture him?

 

(That wouldn’t truly be a surprise; Chris did always say it was the cutest ones with the worst intentions.)

 

They talked about how to scope the body without causing the patient harm for a solid two hours and even that didn’t bore Victor. Together they sat, flipping through book after book long past anyone but the half-asleep vendors were in the cafeteria. It was Yuuri who suggested getting a snack, which was a surprise considering all of Victor’s attempts of getting him to say anything but medical terms had proved unsuccessful thus far.

 

Eventually the pair decided on getting sandwiches from a small café-like vendor who gave them each one of his extra cookies for free, because it was too late to have any other customers.

 

“So Yuuri,” Victor began as he took a big bite out of his food, “I heard you speak a little Japanese earlier.”

 

“Yeah, I’m from a small town called Hasetsu. It’s on the coast.”

 

It was a short, guarded answer, but Victor clung to the new facet of information, however tiny it was.

 

“It sounds wonderful! What’s it like there?”

 

“Much less busy than Detroit,” said Yuuri after a small pause. “My family owns a hot spring and inn there which is way better than any hot tub or pool here. Also, the food is _so_ much better in Japan. My mother was an amazing cook.”

 

“Was?”

 

“Is,” Yuuri corrected himself. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen her or tasted her cooking. I’ve been in America since medical school.”

 

“What type of food does she make?” Victor asked, leaning forward towards the other surgeon unconsciously. Yuuri’s cheekbones were very high, he realized in a daze. They were high and beautiful and had no right to be so damn distracting. If his voice weren’t so intoxicating he might have missed his response in favor of watching Yuuri emote.

 

“All sorts of Japanese food,” he answered earnestly. “But the absolute best thing is her katsudon—I haven’t eaten anything else that compares in all of my life! It’s rice topped with egg, pork cutlet and vegetables.”

 

Victor looked down at his sandwich in pity. “I almost don’t want to eat this now, your katsudon sounds so delicious. Perhaps during the next two weeks of our studying you could make it for me?”

 

Yuuri blushed. It was an adorable reaction, one that stretched from ear to ear across his aforementioned high cheekbones and nose. “Um, yeah, I guess. It’ll probably be terrible because I’ve been trying to cook it for months with no success.”

 

“I’m sure that nothing you put your mind to could ever be terrible. I can’t wait to try it!”

 

The next hour or so was nothing but discussion of the past. Yuuri spoke of his childhood friends and his late night trysts to the local ice rink where he would practice skating. He explained that it was his dream, but with no real motivation he could never bring himself to compete.

 

Victor retaliated with tales of St. Petersburg. There wasn’t much to say, however, since both of his parents were surgeons and they raised him to be the best of the best. He never truly had any friends until he came to Detroit, but Victor kept that to himself.

 

Yuuri tried to impress Victor with wild tales of he and Phichit’s adventures with the pediatric patients but he was quick to counter with rather vulgar descriptions of exotic parties thrown by Chris at his apartment, complete with the pole in his living room being put to good use.

 

Time went by fast and with no warning until eventually Yuuri was fighting his closing eyes with each breath. It was a golden sight that Victor prided himself on seeing, but he didn’t want him to be tired for his surgeries tomorrow.

 

He tapped Yuuri awake once more. “Wake up sleepy head,” he whispered in a light voice. “Let’s go to the on-call room, yeah?”

 

The resident nodded sleepily, pulling himself off the ceramic table and onto his feet. Victor scooped the papers and textbooks into the messenger bag and draped it over his shoulder. When he turned back Yuuri was back to his chair and sleeping, though he must not have looked away for more that a minute.

 

“Ah, Yuuri,” Victor murmured, enchanted by the ethereal person beside him. The sound of the rolled ‘U’ coming off of his tongue was the most captivating experience ever. He wanted to repeat it over and over until his voice was gone, until his throat was so sore he couldn’t speak anything else.

 

Victor hoisted Yuuri up from his resting position so that his weight was mostly on his shoulder, but he didn’t mind. The Japanese surgeon opened his eyes drearily.

 

“Victor?” Yuuri’s tone was lilted, tainted by lethargy that was painted on every one of his delicate features. Victor almost dropped him at the sound of his name, overly shocked at those two syllables.

 

“I’m taking you to sleep on a bed instead of the table,” Victor teased in return, tucking a strand of black hair behind Yuuri’s ear. “Step with me,” he instructed gently.

 

“Alright,” he responded quietly. It was hardly audible as Yuuri’s voice was quieter than ever before, certainly quieter than the repeating sound of steps down the hall.

 

As they approached the rows of beds, half-occupied by various surgeons of different specialties, Yuuri seemed more awake as he collapsed on the nearest bed. Victor followed in suit by crumpling into the next cot. For the moment he didn’t care that it wasn’t _his_ bed, as long as he was near Yuuri.

 

(Victor didn’t mention that his shift ended hours ago and he was more than able to return to his upscale apartment.)

 

(Yuuri didn’t either.)

  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave any criticism you have in the comments. Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr: http://doodley.tumblr.com (ps, this is me begging you to add me. i'm lonely)


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